


Metamorphosis

by meguri_aite



Category: Hikaru no Go
Genre: Community: blind_go, Multi, also pairings that may or may not be imaginary, please assume all hikago gen comes with akihika implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 18:32:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1658282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meguri_aite/pseuds/meguri_aite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day, Ochi wakes up and finds himself transformed into a bishounen.<br/>(Sadly, he is also his own biggest buzzkill, but at least there is always Shindou to blame.)</p>
<p> <i>Ochi Kousuke observed his surroundings with great distaste. He should have known better than to have looked forward to the Japan-Korea exhibition games. Clearly, only a fool would have expected things to go differently solely because it wasn’t an official tournament; but admittedly, on rare occasions even people as smart as himself were prone to certain lapses of judgment. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Metamorphosis

**Author's Note:**

> written for round 15 of blind_go, with all the love to [Kexing](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kexing) for being an excellent beta and an even better friend ♥
> 
> special thanks go to my dear long-suffering [throwingscissorsatinternets](http://throwingscissorsatinternets.tumblr.com/) for letting me borrow Ochi goggles and putting up with that even while having no investment in Hikago whatsoever :)
> 
> (and obviously, thanks to [Project Gutenberg](http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/5200) for letting me take a literary joke too far.)

Ochi Kousuke observed his surroundings with great distaste. He should have known better than to have looked forward to the Japan-Korea exhibition games. Clearly, only a fool would have expected things to go differently solely because it wasn’t an official tournament; but admittedly, on rare occasions even people as smart as himself were prone to certain lapses of judgment.

He obviously forgot who made up the ranks of the Japanese Go professionals when he thought the visit of the Korean players for a series of friendly matches would be an excellent opportunity to exchange expertise and try his skills against unfamiliar opponents. Obviously. Because the scene unraveling in front of his eyes was disgustingly familiar.

Waya had spent the last five minutes running around looking for Shindou, worried that he was running late or god forbid, had disappeared again (Ochi doubted Shindou had the decency to be accommodating enough to do that, which was overall very regrettable), and now that Shindou showed up, Waya was chewing him out. Shindou wasn’t listening, because Touya Akira 5-dan had also noticed his appearance and started moving purposefully towards him. Which for everyone else present – even if their only fault was being in the same room as these two – meant that they immediately faded into black. The black zone of the tunnel vision that was Touya Akira’s most incomprehensible aberration, his obsession with Shindou, which the latter mirrored with unholy zeal.

Ochi sniffed and turned his back to them. Nothing he hadn’t seen before, nothing he wanted to see ever again. Someone next to him giggled, and Ochi noticed Nase standing not too far from him.

“Poor Waya, I wonder how he likes being tuned out every time,” she said with a smirk.

“No one makes Waya babysit Shindou,” Ochi huffed. “That’s what he gets for being friends with Shindou, so Waya really has no right to complain.” The part of Ochi’s brain that was meticulously honest added that technically, this treatment was not reserved exclusively for Waya. Shindou just didn’t notice whom he brushed off in favor of Touya.  And the fact that there were always people who got ignored, and noticed it, and maybe even cared about it, was another bullet point on the long list of things that Shindou didn’t deserve. But acknowledging it out loud would be adding to the numerous unnecessary conversations about Shindou in the world, so Ochi didn’t elaborate.

Nase glanced at her wristwatch.

“There’s still about an hour until the official opening, so I don’t think we’ll see any of the Korean pros for maybe half an hour,” she said. The exhibition games were going to be held in this very hotel, where the delegation from Korea was staying. To foster friendship and cooperation between the players, the organizers made rooms available for the Japanese players during the event as well. Ochi wasn’t yet sure if he wanted to take them up on the offer, since his driver could just as well get him here on time every morning.

At this point, with a low ding the elevator doors leading to the conference hall started to open. Ochi saw Nase’s mouth make an O-shape as she watched two pros from the Korean delegation walk out of the elevator – or, to be more accurate, watched Ko Yeong-ha saunter and Hong Su-yeong trot behind him. And what were the chances that it was purely a coincidence that they were heading in the direction of Shindou, Ochi wondered bitterly.

Thankfully, he was spared learning the answer to his (sadly rhetorical) question, because the reporters from _Weekly Go_ immediately ascended on the Korean guests, delighted at the opportunity to ask them a few questions before the opening ceremony.

“Ko Yeong-ha-san, Hong Su-yeong-san, welcome back to Japan! Do you like it here? Are you looking forward to the exhibition games ahead of you? Do you think they will be different from the heated battles of the Hokuto cup?”

Ko Yeong-ha smiled pleasantly at the cameras, apparently having decided that the questions were addressed exclusively to him, and started off with greetings in halting Japanese. This arrangement seemed to suit everyone; the reporters were charmed and complimented him profusely, and Hong Su-yeong started gesturing to someone behind Ko’s back.  

With a resigned feeling that he knew whom Hong Su-yeong had just seen, Ochi followed the Korean’s line of sight, and yes, there was Shindou, doing what had to be some attempt at breaking records in monkey behavior. He was waving wildly back at Hong, grinning and flailing his hands around. Ochi noted with some satisfaction that Touya visibly despaired at Shindou, and started hissing what most likely was a string of admonishments to him. Of which Shindou must have heard a total of zero, because he just started flailing around more actively and – seriously, did he have to grab Touya Akira by his sleeve and start dragging him to where Hong Su-yeong was? Ochi wasn’t sure what was more unbecoming, that or the fact that Touya didn’t shake him off immediately.

At this point, possibly because Shindou was as couth as he was quiet, two things happened at once: Shindou stopped in his tracks, only now having noticed Ko Yeong-ha, and Ko Yeong-ha turned his head towards him in a cinematic slow motion, his smile widening in a disturbingly predatory fashion. Ochi heard Hong Su-yeong sigh, then Ko let out a tirade in Korean and looked at his colleague expectantly. Hong Su-yeong sighed again and played translator.

“My friend says he’s looking forward to these games, and he’s particularly interested in seeing if the Japanese pros still have the same… feisti-… fighting spirit as he remembers, and whether they have the skills to match it.”

Hong Su-yeong had a resigned expression, Ko was openly smirking in Shindou’s direction, and Shindou – and Shindou was being preventively physically restrained by Touya, who put an arm on his shoulder in a gesture that escaped no one, and politely addressed the guests in their mother tongue. Possibly assuring them that the Japanese team was glad to be their opponents, but also maybe apologizing for having a barbarian in their ranks, Ochi thought vengefully. Or maybe Touya was apologizing for his own poor taste in rivals.

Ochi could sense that the day wasn’t going to get any better.

“What did you tell him?” Shindou, clearly still livid, turned to Touya, but it was Hong who answered.

“Touya Akira told Yeong-Ha that their exhibition match scheduled for today will be an excellent opportunity for both of them to learn something from each other.”

Judging by how curiously Ko Yeong-ha was eyeing Touya, it wasn’t the reaction he had expected. However, after a pause he tilted his head in something that would have been acknowledgement on a less haughty face.

“Your Korean is very good. It will be my pleasure,” he answered in Japanese. Touya, who hadn’t broken eye contact with him until then, gracefully nodded, a picture-perfect image of a Japanese youth.

“Duh, Touya’s awesome like that, didn’t you know!” Of course, trust Shindou to ruin any impression of civility and divert all attention back to himself. Ko turned his eyes back to him, the unsettling smile back on this face, and then slowly looked at Touya, who mostly managed to keep his composure. Shindou, whose expression was a particularly stupid one, caught halfway between flustered and mulish, wheeled around and stomped off with a huff. And because Touya was still clutching him by the shoulder, he got tow-tracked behind him with a muffled “Shindou!”

Ochi was decidedly unimpressed. Hong Su-yeong stoically sighed once again. Ko looked pleased with himself and the world. The interviewers, who had been enraptured with the scene, started scribbling furiously in their notebooks and showered the Korean guests with more questions.

Ochi adjusted his glasses dismissively and went to find himself a place in the rows allocated for the Japanese pros. Empty seats were a much more appealing prospect for the next half hour than enduring this circus.

The opening ceremony went on for longer than usual, but somehow didn’t feel dragged out. Ashiwara 6-dan, who was designated by the Nihon Ki-in to make the official greetings and help all the speakers and sponsors on stage, was enjoying himself and chatting more like an emcee than an official representative. No one (except for the Korean translators, who looked slightly taken aback by the torrent of exuberant chitchat) seemed to mind that, because the audience often broke into laughter, with good-natured anticipation smoothing the edge of competitiveness common for international matches. Even Ochi’s sour mood seemed to have lightened somewhat.

“It is truly a pleasure to be talking to all of you today, so you must pardon me for hijacking this spot for longer than I was allowed,” Ashiwara-san said, wrapping up his introductory part. The audience perked up, straightening in their chairs in anticipation of what was to come, and Ashiwara-san didn’t disappoint.

“But as you know, there are more entertaining things planned for today. As the opening event of Japan-Korea friendly games, Touya Akira 5-dan and Ko Yeong-Ha 5-dan are going to play an exhibition match. I am happy to give floor to Ogata Juudan Kisei, who will be doing the commentary. Ogata-san, please!”

Ogata-sensei stood up from his seat in the front row to accept the microphone from Ashiwara’s hands, and Ochi thought he heard Shindou protest about something, but it was lost in the sound of shuffling chairs. Touya Akira made his way to the stage, smiling his thank-you-for-your-support smile familiar to anyone who’d ever held a copy of _Weekly Go_ in their hands, and then a chair next to Ochi rattled as Shindou plonked himself on it with a huff. Ochi’s mood instantly curdled like leftover milk.

“Hi, Ochi!” Shindou turned to smile at him, completely oblivious to the fact that Ochi was giving him a stink-eye. “This is a great place to watch the moves on the big board, it’s lucky that you have one more seat here.” Subtlety didn’t really work on Shindou, did it? But judging by how intensely Shindou was staring at the players on stage, it was already too late to try and argue the point.

Ochi turned his eyes back to Ogata-sensei, who had started his commentary.

“I think it was an excellent move on the organizers’ part to open this event with what is probably the most long-awaited international match between pros aged eighteen and under.” Judging by the anticipatory tension in the audience, he wasn’t off the mark. Ogata-sensei nodded, apparently satisfied with the effect.

“It was at the Hokuto cup which took place two years ago that Touya Akira and Ko Yeong-ha, back then both of them 3-dans, first met as representatives of their countries. I’m sure many of us were looking forward to their match as first boards. But the teams decided to go with a different arrangement. Expectations were as high as the stakes - maybe even higher.”

Ogata-sensei made a pointed pause, and Shindou clenched his fists.

“Who thought letting Ogata-san comment on the game was a good idea?” he groused.

Ochi didn’t have an answer to this question. “It is pretty much unheard of to have a double title-holder comment a game that isn’t even a part of any official tournament. Maybe Ogata-sensei volunteered because he and Touya are both members of the Meijin’s study group?” he wondered aloud.

“Of course he volunteered! And I’m not talking about his titles, who cares about that – they gave him the mic! The man is a public menace and he should be restrained, along with his – his oily remarks.”

Ochi raised his eyebrows, taken aback by this display of manners abysmal even by Shindou standards. He had no idea what prompted that outburst, but before he could ask – or decidedly refrain from asking – Ogata continued.

“Regardless, all the boards played a good game, and the Hokuto cup matches were undoubtedly a very important milestone for all the players, particularly for those with an above-average level of emotional investment in the results.”

Ogata looked like he was enjoying an inside joke, Shindou was scowling, and Ochi was disgusted with a world in which a double title-holder presenting at an international game was publicly reminiscing about an emotional breakdown of a no-name shodan that happened two years ago. Well, then a no-name shodan. Not important. Ochi shook his head and turned back to the stage, ignoring Shindou – only to be faced with the sight of Touya and Ko Yeong-ha both looking right back at him with peculiar expressions. Amendment: looking at Shindou. Of course.

“We are all plagued by the same question – how would the match between the most famed players of the younger generation have gone? I’m sure both Akira-kun here and our esteemed guest are most eager to demonstrate exactly this in a minute.”

Ogata-sensei’s voice took on a suspiciously gloating quality, but Ochi was too busy watching Touya to confirm it. Touya, who hadn’t bat an eye at being so condescendingly referred to by Ogata-sensei. Touya, who was still looking at Shindou with a serious expression.

“The players are allotted an hour each, with thirty seconds byoyomi. Whenever you are ready, gentlemen.” With Ogata’s last remark, both players snapped back to attention, exchanged customary greetings, and the game started.

There was not enough time for a long, meditatively thought-out game, but it was apparent that neither of the opponents minded that. They threw themselves into the match with energy and speed that might have fooled a casual observed into believing that the players barely stopped to think about their moves. They put stones on the board with audible snaps, and Ogata soon had to switch from long sentences imbued with hidden meaning to – well, somewhat shorter sentences with marginally less innuendo but more to the point. And when Juudan Kisei shared his commentary on the gameplay, and not just on the ardor of the opponents, it gave everyone in the audience a chance to appreciate just how competent the players were. Their match was a gentlemen’s duel, an elegant fight where opponents gauged each other’s strength by exchanging stylish, polished moves that could have been playful had they not been deadly. Ochi had a treacherous thought that maybe the only reason he could follow that complex dance was because the players were under time pressure and did not have the chance to bring in their heavy artillery.

The game was going relatively even; the opponents seemed evenly matched. Ko Yeong-ha was a very skilled player, and, Ochi felt, a much more acceptable match for Touya Akira 5-dan than Shindou. He was vastly annoyed with the fact that everyone and their mother in Nihon Ki-in was crooning over how Shindou was Touya’s eternal rival. Ochi was willing to concede that Touya’s games against Shindou had this certain quality, this intensity that was almost discomforting to outsiders, and that Shindou was an unconventional player who played rather rattling games. But, Ochi felt, this was not how this whole concept of rivalry was supposed to go. Being rivals should be about playing balanced, beautiful games like this. Shouldn’t it?

“Hmm, I wonder if Touya-kun didn’t bite off more than he can chew with this move.” Ogata’s voice broke Ochi’s train of thoughts and brought his attention to the latest stone placed on the big magnetic board. Ochi gasped – that move put black’s group in the center under immense pressure, but at the same time left white’s two groups near the upper right corner open for attack; Ko wouldn’t miss the chance to separate them with his next move. It wasn’t rare for Touya to play aggressive moves like that, but not in games this even. Even if he tried to read far ahead, Ochi couldn’t envision a scenario where this move wouldn’t cost Touya an arm and a leg.

At this point Ochi realized with disgust that he was compelled to turn for answers to Shindou, who was watching the board with unwavering attention. Reluctantly, and clearly against his better judgment, Ochi spoke up.

“Who do you think will win?”

“Touya,” was an immediate reply, but Shindou didn’t even turn to look at him, intent on watching the board and the players.

“But with that kosumi, by yose he will be three moku behind at the very least!”

Shindou didn’t seem impressed with Ochi’s reading of the game. He gave Ochi the briefest of glances before looking back at the stage.

“No, Touya won’t lose. He will never lose to an opponent I almost won against.”

Ochi practically spluttered at that. Who did Shindou think he was? Why was he so damn sure that the world revolved around him, that everything Touya did was somehow about him? What gave him the right?!

Overwhelmed with disgust, Ochi turned back to the board. And as expected, the Korean did not hesitate to jump at the chance to tear Touya’s groups apart. For the next ten moves the game followed Ochi’s scenario, increasing the point difference. That is, until Touya’s next stone, which he placed on the board with deceptive lightness, turned the situation on its head. With a single move, the defense of white’s two separated groups transformed into one monster of a trap, its maw tightening around its overconfident victim.

Ochi was stunned. He could have expected a trick like that come from Shindou, playing against whom was like walking into quicksand in your own back garden, but Touya played differently. He would march into your back garden with an army and decimate every inch of it and salt the earth when he was done, and you could probably see it coming but you couldn’t stop it, never stop it.

The game ended with Touya winning by two and a half moku. Ko Yeong-ha was very gracious about his defeat and expressed his desire to play another game against Touya while they were still in Japan – preferably a longer one, regardless of whether the drawing lots gave them the opportunity to do it within these friendship matches. Touya Akira, ever the well-mannered conversationalist where Shindou was not concerned, assured Ko that it would be his pleasure and strode off back to his seat.

Or back to Shindou’s seat, Ochi noticed dryly. Touya stopped right in front of Shindou, failing to notice that Ochi was also there.

“You won,” Shindou said, standing up, his eyes shining with confidence.

“Of course I did, Shindou. I couldn’t have lost to someone that you almost won against.” And then Touya added with a smile, “And Ko Yeong-ha hasn’t been playing against you for these last two years.”

Ochi closed his eyes and slowly counted to ten, looking for reasons why he couldn’t just leave this place immediately. Coming up short, he stood up and abruptly walked out without even bothering to excuse himself – it was not like anyone noticed him, anyway.

He attacked the vending machine in the lobby with more force than the thing deserved, and drank three packets of cold grape juice, crushing the boxes with his hands until they were completely deformed, and then went off to look for a restroom.

* *  *

That night Ochi did not sleep well. He kept tossing and turning, bitter feelings – and probably the three packets of grape juice – sloshing around in this stomach. In general, Ochi wasn’t unsatisfied with his life, but some days made it really hard to remember that.

However, when he woke up from his troubled dreams, Ochi found himself transformed into a bishounen.

It went like this.

He lay on his back, and the first thing he noticed on opening his eyes was that his legs were sticking out from under the blanket. The same blanket that covered almost all of the two-meter long bed, and since his head was still firmly on the pillow, Ochi couldn’t comprehend how this was possible.

Lifting his head a little, Ochi pushed the blanket off his chest and saw what was most definitely and most improbably a six-pack in place of his stomach. The hand holding the blanket was also larger than one he was used to seeing, with long fingers and the strong wrist of an adult.

‘What’s happened to me?’ Ochi thought. The arrangement of his abdominal muscles stared back at him, cheerfully refusing to disappear.

Ochi blinked and started to fumble for his glasses by his bedside, before it occurred to him that if he was seeing what he was seeing, then it was indication enough that his eyesight improved overnight as well. As further proof, his eyes easily focused on the picture by his bedside table – a colorful cover photo of the most recent issue of _Weekly Go_ , celebrating the start of the Japan-Korea matches. On it all pros of Nihon Ki-in under the age of eighteen were looking at the camera in a group centered around Touya and Shindou, whose idiotic grin seemed to take up half of the picture.

Ochi deliberately closed his eyes and slid back into his former position, with his head back on the pillow. ‘Seeing Shindou all the time,’ he thought, ‘makes you stupid. You start having weird ideas and illusions. You’ve got to get a break from it. Pros at other Go Institutes live a life of Shindou-free luxury and don’t even know it.’

He opened his eyes again, remembering the events of the previous day, and thinking about how many variations of them he’d have to see in the nearest future. And in addition to this by now all-too-familiar grievance, he had the new body hassle to deal with.

‘Oh, God’, Ochi thought, ‘what a strenuous career it is that I've chosen.’

The excessive drama of his mental monologue was marginally amusing; nevertheless, Ochi tried to calmly contemplate his current predicament. For that, he first had to assess the damage, so he got out of bed and headed to the bathroom. He tried not to look at himself too closely before he could see all of himself in the mirror – no use trying to guess at pieces when you could have the whole picture laid in front of you at once after ripping off the proverbial band-aid.

The answers provided by the mirror could have only been summarized as follows: Ochi indeed woke up transformed into a stereotypical bishounen. He could not fathom the reasons for it, nor could he guess at how long-lasting the effect would be, but it appeared that at this very moment, for all intents and purposes it was a fact he had to put up with. And Ochi would not let some incomprehensible overnight physical transformation get in the way his professional obligations. His mind was unaffected, so there was no reason not to show up at his matches. And if he could find it in himself to put up with the side effects of this change, then he didn’t see any reason why others shouldn’t do the same. And, he mentally added, it would be curious to see how well the change would go over.

Despite all the difficulty he was in, he could not suppress a smile at this thought.

With one last glance in the mirror, Ochi told himself once more that it wasn’t possible for him to stay in bed and wait until this whole thing blew over, and that the most sensible thing to do would be to go on like nothing changed, and so he proceeded with his usual morning routine.

By the time he was dressed and ready for the day, Ochi realized that he really did want to open the door, to let people see him and to speak to them. He was feeling quite capable of keeping his wits today – or any other day, for that matter – but sometimes people were reeled by the smallest things, so he was curious to learn what they would say when they caught sight of him. If they were shocked, then it was their own fault and responsibility, Ochi thought with a smirk as he walked out of his hotel room.

He had plenty of opportunities to witness how his new appearance affected people even before the elevator took him to the floor where the player pair-ups would be decided. The hotel maid that he met on his way to the elevator was the first ever woman to blush, trip and stare open-mouthed at the sight of him – all at the same time, Ochi observed – and once he got inside the elevator, he was almost overwhelmed by a group of females affiliated by the event’s sponsors, judging by their ID passes. They were giggling like schoolgirls and showering him with inane questions, and the pushiest one even held out her notebook for him to autograph. Ochi looked at it with distaste – if she wanted an autograph, couldn’t she produce paper specifically designed for it? – but signed it anyway, thinking that appeasing the women would be the fastest way to get rid of them.

By the time Ochi was at the doors of the conference room, he was strengthened in the conviction that his first response to the situation had been confident and wise, and that made him feel better. He would continue like this, unperturbed; the transformation was nothing he couldn’t deal with, and there were important games ahead.

During the drawing of the lots, Ochi caught quite a few interested or dazed glances from people apparently taken in by his new physique, and sneered internally. If they were going to be so jelly-brained about it, he saw no reason why he shouldn’t take advantage of their idiocy and demonstrate his own superiority at the goban.

The drawing luck apparently decided to continue diverting all attention to Ochi, because his opponent for the day was none other than Ko Yeong-ha. Who seemed to be rather pleased with the prospect, if the way he smiled and started moving purposefully towards Ochi was any indication. Ochi straightened his back in anticipation, and felt his mood brighten even more on hearing Shindou groan somewhere to his left: of course, he was muttering about wanting to face Ko himself. ‘Sorry, Shindou, everything won’t always be to your liking’, Ochi thought smugly, and turned to greet his opponent with a smile.

“What a lovely day today,” Ko Yeong-ha purred in response in his accented Japanese. “A suitable day for such a lovely opponent.”

Ochi felt the smile on his face freeze, feeling at a loss for words. He forced himself out of his momentary stupor, deciding to chalk up the dubiousness of the remark to Ko Yeong-ha’s poor grasp of Japanese.

“I look forward to playing against such a strong opponent,” Ochi replied. “I look forward to trying my skills against the pro who is deemed the strongest of his generation in Korea.”

“It will be my pleasure to entertain you,” said Ko with a disturbing amount of lasciviousness in his smile, which suggested that maybe Ochi had underestimated both the Korean’s grasp of the language and his interest in pretty boys. Feeling increasingly queasy, Ochi nodded and hastened to find their designated table.

He felt somewhat betrayed that his good luck for the day did not cover getting rid of Shindou, whom Ochi saw take a seat directly behind him. Shindou’s own luck in the draw wasn’t too good, apparently – he didn’t get to play either Ko Yeong-ha or Hong Su-yeong. His opponent was a girl – Bae Mi-Hyun, Ochi remembered. Currently a 3-dan and rising very fast through the ranks. She was known for being able to hold her ground against more experienced players, but also for playing really unevenly in games against lower-dans. Ochi snorted, thinking that in some way, she was actually an appropriate match for Mr. Forfeit.

There wasn’t any more time to ponder, as Ochi felt Ko Yeong-ha approach him from the back. He literally felt it, and was about to yelp at this sudden intrusion into his personal space, but thankfully, the Korean only wanted to pull out Ochi’s chair for him. Ochi stared at the offending piece of furniture, trying to compose himself, while Ko cheerfully sauntered to his own seat, an expression of earnest delight on his groomed visage. Ochi felt goose bumps break out along his arms, and tried not to think about flies drowning in honey jars.

Thankfully, the buzzer announced the start of the games soon after, so Ochi hastily bowed his head in a customary greeting. When he looked up again, however, he had to admit that Ko Yeong-ha continued to be difficult. The Korean leaned suggestively over the board, putting his arm lightly over it, fingers stretched towards Ochi, and murmured “Yoroshiku onegaishimasu” in a way that made it sound like an improper invitation. Ochi fought off the urge to fidget in his seat and decisively grabbed a handful of stones for nigiri.

Twenty moves into the game he realized that he was struggling to keep up with the game, and not for the reasons he had imagined. Despite the unplanned recent change in his appearance, or rather, because of it, the one at disadvantage was not his opponent but himself. Apparently, the frivolous Korean had no problem both keeping up with the game and flirting flagrantly, fluttering his eyelashes at Ochi and trying to engage him in a conversation with daft platitudes about the color of his eyes matching his hair, or something similar. And if that wasn’t annoying by itself, the fact that Ko Yeong-ha did all of the above while effortlessly avoiding all of Ochi’s attacks on the board vexed Ochi endlessly. Didn’t the other man consider him a threat at all?

By chuuban, Ochi was getting a nasty suspicion that Ko wasn’t playing him seriously, because he didn’t seem in a hurry to make the most of the advantageous positions of his stones, preferring to play tenuki somewhere else on the board if the situation got especially dangerous for Ochi. It was most infuriating, and Ochi gritted his teeth, determined to make his opponent pay with interest for such frivolous neglect. Even Touya Akira, whom Ochi knew to be above himself in terms of skill, never stooped to such demeaning play, even if he could afford to.

Speak of the devil – Ochi took his eyes off the goban for a second to try and get a new perspective on the formations on the board and noticed Touya walk purposefully in his direction. And for a minute – for the one whole minute it took Touya to come close enough – Ochi entertained a stupid hope that Touya was walking towards him, to check on his game, because he was interested in his, Ochi’s, match.

Touya walked one step further than Ochi wished him to, passing Ochi by and stopping at Shindou’s table. Of course. Of course. Ochi felt tar-like bitterness rise from the depth of his stomach, familiar and potent as ever.

“Touya,” he heard a voice behind him, followed by the noise of a moving chair. “You done?”

“Yes. Hong Su-yeong is undoubtedly stronger than he was during the Hokuto Cup games, but it was a win by resignation all the same. I see you’re finished, too?”

“Just now, yeah! Touya, it was a fun a game, look at this part over here! And can you ask the girl about this deviation from joseki that she played early in the game? I think it could be very interesting in the right hands.”

“Shindou, don’t tell me you don’t remember – never mind,” Ochi heard Touya sigh and then switch into Korean, addressing Bae Mi-Hyun.

Ochi forced himself to stop listening to the conversation and once again focus on his board – just in time to see Ko Yeong-ha put a stone in a position that sentenced his own largest group on the board to death. Before Ochi could say anything, his face heating up in fury, Ko touched the same stone again, his face free of any frivolousness for the first time during the game. He bit his lip, looking genuinely put out.

“This was a mistake, even children shouldn’t make it,” he said. “I never made a child’s mistake like that before.”

The Korean bowed his head in resignation, and Ochi felt completely and utterly cheated - cheated out of this game, cheated out of his victory, cheated out of all good things in life. Feeling like he might cry, he briskly thanked his opponent and walked out of the room as fast as his legs would carry him.

Ochi’s streak of good luck seemed to have forsaken him – possibly starting from the moment Shindou showed up, Ochi thought resentfully – because he didn’t get very far before he was stopped by someone calling his name. He reluctantly slowed down and turned his head to see Nase catching up to him. She looked out breath and a bit pink in the face, and Ochi concluded that it was either because his newfound mojo was kicking back in, or because his long legs enabled him cover longer distances in one stride.

“Whoo, boy,” she steadied herself against the wall and then looked up at him. “Are you in a rush to go somewhere?”

“No, not really,” Ochi pursed his lips. Wanting to get away from a place was not the same as going somewhere purposefully, but he didn’t want to elaborate.

“I guess your match is over, too? How did it go?”

“I won.” Ochi most definitely didn’t want to elaborate on that, either. But Nase seemed undeterred, and leaned in towards him, speaking in a tone indicating confidentiality.

“Listen, Ochi, there is something I wanted to talk to you about,” she said. “Let’s go out for a cup of coffee or something during lunch break.”

Ochi peered at Nase’s face in suspicion. So was the pink color a sign of flustered feelings, then? He was not in the mood to deal with further advances of romantic persuasion and was about to refuse her, when Nase gripped his wrist with uncanny strength.

“Ochi, I’ll find you when we have a break.” There was something about the firm tone of her voice that suggested that this was not a subject for further debate, and Ochi nodded meekly before he even realized what he was doing. Before he could protest, Nase beamed at him and walked back into the game room – was that a skip in her step? –  and Ochi was left wondering if those vaguely threatening notes were a figment of his imagination. He shook his head and continued his walk. He knew nothing good came out of seeing that much of Shindou every day; common sense seemed to desert places Shindou frequented, so Ochi wouldn’t be surprised if he started having full-blown delusions in the middle of the day himself soon.

But once again he was stopped before he could go much further along the corridor. This time, it was Amano-san, brimming with enthusiasm and walking briskly towards him.

“Ah, Ochi-kun, how fortunate that I’ve managed to catch you here. You left very early, it was an impressively quick win! Congratulations!”

Ochi hadn’t thought that there could be a victory he would be so loath to talk about, but this day proved him wrong.

“Thank you,” he answered for politeness’ sake and tried to leave, but that wasn’t meant to happen.

“Ochi-kun, do you have a minute for an interview with us? We would love to hear your comments about the match. It’s not every day one of our brightest young professionals wins a match against a famous Korean pro! But we expected nothing less from you, Ochi-kun.”

Ochi stared at him, speechless. Two strong emotions were warring inside his head: while he was confident he deserved recognition, even a belated one like that, the terms in which it came suggested that there was some gross miscalculation involved in there somewhere. 

“There is always Touya Akira,” Ochi said reluctantly in the way of an answer.

And Shindou, he knew with bitter clarity. But not even his honesty could compel him to say that out loud – not today, not ever.

Anyway, if the attention he received for his victory required him to talk about a game where his opponent put more effort into flirting with him than playing, then maybe it wasn’t the recognition Ochi wanted. Or the victory. Ochi bowed to Amano-san in apology and quickly left, feeling oddly sorrowful but no longer angry.

Ochi wasn’t sure how it happened, but between conversations with random people and organizational matters accompanying the games, time flew in the blink of an eye and it was already lunchtime. True to her word, Nase was waiting for him in the hotel lobby, tapping her foot – nervously or impatiently, Ochi couldn’t tell. Once she saw him approach, she grabbed him by the arm in a very business-like manner and dragged him so quickly into a café nearby that Ochi was feeling a bit dizzy by the time they sat down.

“So what did you want to talk about?” he asked, hoping against all odds that it wasn’t something too unpleasant. At this point, he wouldn’t even mind dealing with a love confession, if that was what Nase had on her mind – anything unrelated to his victory would be a welcome change.

The waitress came before Nase could answer, so she fidgeted in her seat while they placed their orders.

“Tell me about today,” she burst out as soon as the waitress left. “You played next to Shindou, didn’t you?”

“What?!” Ochi almost choked on the word, feeling deeply betrayed. He didn’t have many opinions about Nase, but one thing he thought she wasn’t, was a Shindou fan. “What does Shindou have to do with me?”

“What?” she stared with equal incomprehension back at him, and then shook her head dismissively. “No, I’m not talking about Shindou, who cares about him.”

While her words were a balm to Ochi’s wounded soul, he still thought it was too early to encourage this course of conversation – and least, before he learnt where exactly the said conversation was going.

“So what exactly are you asking about?” Nase didn’t often beat around the bush, even if it made her sound too blunt or crude occasionally, but it was one of the qualities Ochi approved of. Cutting to the point could save so much valuable time.

“His opponent.”

“Bae Mi-Hyun 3-dan?” Well, that was unexpected, but at least not unreasonable. “I didn’t stay to look at her game, but she lost to Shindou. I think he mentioned that she played some unconventional joseki or something, but I don’t know any details.” Ochi paused, looking at Nase’s eager face.

“She’s strong and interesting, isn’t she?” Nase said dreamily.

“I don’t know, why don’t you ask Shindou? He’s the one who played her.”

“Come on, do you think Shindou is physically capable of noticing a single thing about a girl?”

Ochi was bewildered by her choice of words. He would have understood it if Nase said ‘an opponent weaker than himself’, but ‘a girl’? Then he backtracked and mentally reviewed that statement again, only to be depressed by the numerous truths it contained.

“Fair enough.” Ochi forcefully blinked, hoping it would help him chase away mental images of Shindou meeting Touya’s eyes.

“So, Bae Mi-Hyun,” Nase continued. “Does she speak any Japanese? I don’t know a single Korean word, damn it. I never thought I might need to. But is she shy, or talkative?”

“Nase, there are actual interpreters at the event, if you need to talk to her,” Ochi said, annoyed at having to point out the obvious.

“Ochi, please get your head out of your ass. Why would anyone employ official interpreters to chat up a really pretty girl?”

“Chat up.”

“Yes,” Nase nodded impatiently. “So, anything helpful you can tell me? Please?”

He guessed that he technically received the love confession he expected, didn’t he? It wasn’t like he had specified beforehand the subject of the confession. Hunted, he watched the waitress come back with two coffees, and prepared to be pumped for information. Nase wasn’t the strongest player he knew, but she sure made up for it in stubbornness.

What felt like hours later but, according to his watch, couldn’t have been more than forty minutes, Ochi stumbled out of the café and hurried into the hotel building. Eager to get away from any further human interactions, he practically ran into the elevator which would take him to the safety of his room. The closing doors were helpfully paused by someone’s hand. Panting, he turned to thank the random stranger, and was greeted by the sight of Ko Yeong-ha’s grinning face.

Ochi wasn’t one to put much faith into overdramatic similes to describe ordinary everyday occurrences, but at this moment he could swear nothing could be more ominous than the sound of the closing elevator doors, not even the creaking of a cemetery gate. The elevator cabin, which could theoretically fit over ten people of varying build, felt too small for Ochi, and he had an irrational urge to start pressing all the buttons until the elevator doors opened again.

“What pleasant surprise,” purred the Korean, taking a step closer to him and waving his hand at the surroundings in an absurdly grand gesture, as if they were some in some exotic settings. Ochi stepped back until his back hit the wall, cursing his bad luck. It was unfair, hadn’t the day begun in a totally different vein?!

“Are you free now?” Ko Yeong-ha continued, apparently unperturbed by the lack of any response from Ochi. “Do you want to play a game now? Just the two of us?”

The Korean’s suggestion, coupled with his ever-widening smile, made Ochi break in cold sweat.

“No-no no, I am going back to my room,” he shook his head frantically.

“Your room? Good. Let’s go to your room.” The gleam in his heavy-lidded eyes made Ochi want to reconsider his previous assessment of the button-mashing strategy. Ochi’s hand started slowly crawling toward the panel, while he furiously racked his brain for any argument that could convince Ko Yeong-ha, who took yet another step in his direction and was now standing directly before him, to leave him alone.

“My room, eh, you see, my room is…” Wait, where was his room? Trying his hardest to ignore Ko’s face, which seemed to take up his whole field of vision, Ochi forced himself to mentally retrace his steps until he remembered. Coffee with Nase, conversations in the corridor, the match – no need to linger on it, absolutely none – and before that, his morning routine, and before that, before that yesterday he…

Yesterday, he went home. He didn’t remember where his hotel room was because he didn’t have one – yesterday, the driver took him back to his house. The relief flooded every cell in Ochi’s body, and his vision started swimming, everything fading from focus. He felt his knees buckle, and he slowly slid down as his surroundings melted around him into darkness.

With a loud gasp, Ochi woke up in his own bed, thick blanket pressing like a heavy weight against his chest.  

* *  *

Never before had the sight of his own face – complete with glasses and familiar bowl haircut – been the source of such pure and undiluted joy. Ochi peered at his reflection in the mirror for the longest time, even slapped his cheeks, feeling silly but still wanting reassurances that his round cheeks weren’t going to melt into any bishounen forms anytime soon.

Nodding to himself in satisfaction, Ochi went about preparing for the second day of the friendship matches. Having lived it once in a dream made today feel like one of those fictional miraculous opportunities to re-write the past, but Ochi was having none of that nonsense. While those airhead characters were grasping at straws to fix their past, Ochi was feeling an all-encompassing contentment at being rooted back into his life. The universe could keep its supernatural phenomena to those who needed a kick in the shin, Ochi was doing very well on his own, thank you very much. He would firmly put this behind him like a nightmare, and possibly steer clear of grape juice in future.

However, once he was back in the hotel conference room, with drawing lots under way, he realized that he couldn’t just shelf the memories of his bishounen day away.

When the officials announced Nase’s opponent for the day to be Bae Mi-Hyun, Ochi couldn’t help jolting a little. Despite himself, Ochi stared at Nase, scrutinizing her face for any signs of excessive excitement at the news that would indicate her personal interest in the female 3-dan. Maybe his subconscious was trying to tell him something? Nase was smiling at her opponent, looking friendly and eager to play, but was it enough to confirm his suspicions? Irrationally annoyed at the lack of any clear-cut answers, Ochi huffed and turned his head away. It was much easier to tell things like that when people were being straightforward about them, he thought. Unless of course you were on the receiving end of such attention, Ochi amended hastily, his eyes finding one extra flashy and extra irksome Korean in the crowd.

At this moment Ko Yeong-ha’s face, previously a study in fifty shades of glamorous ennui, lit up with unholy enthusiasm, and Ochi realized he just missed the announcement of the next pair of opponents. For one heart-stoppingly long moment Ochi was petrified at the thought that Ko’s opponent was himself, and then he heard Shindou’s voice, saying “Hell, yeah!” somewhere to his left, and slumped back in his chair, relief turning his bones into jelly.

Apparently, another thing he never thought he’d feel happy about was the sound of Shindou’s voice. Obviously, Shindou was making a spectacle of himself again, drawing everyone’s attention with his immature antics, but today Ochi couldn’t begrudge him that. Shindou was welcome to all the Korean boy geniuses and their hair-raising games, and limelight, and pestering groupies, and they could just rile each other all day long for all Ochi cared.

Hearing his own name, Ochi found his opponent in the crowd. Hong Su-yeong, in a crisp white shirt and with his hair perfectly tidied-up, nodded at him politely, and a reassuring feeling of being firmly within his comfort zone enveloped Ochi.

Everything was all right with the world.

“Touya, Touya, I’m playing him! Touya!” a voice reached him from the back.

Well, almost everything, then.

 


End file.
